


Broken, Not a Burden

by angelsandbrowncoats



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gaslighting, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Making Up, Sharing a Bed, get Ed a real genuine good therapist 2kforever, idk shit about solomon grundy, if there's a chance it might affect you don't read it, in which i break said poor boy and make oswald learn how to be a good person, it's ed's pov/stream of consciousness as he hallucinates his parents, seriously guys the mature rating is about the abuse, that poor boy needs a hug, the first third that is, writing this lowkey fucked me up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2019-01-16 16:32:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12346449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelsandbrowncoats/pseuds/angelsandbrowncoats
Summary: The Scarecrow hits a fighting ring, with minimal damage. The only one who hasn't been able to snap out of his horrors is one Edward Nygma, and Leslie is out of ideas to bring him back. She decides to risk it all on the one man who knows Ed better than anyone. Her spur of the moment decision leads to both Edward and Oswald learning some rather alarming facts about themselves and each other.Or: Edward hallucinates his parents and Oswald realizes just how much he Fucked Up





	Broken, Not a Burden

**Author's Note:**

> The first third of this story is written from Ed's POV as he hallucinates, so it's intentionally confusing. I hope the confusion cleared up when the POV switches to Oswald.
> 
> Also, as stated before, there is some relatively serious emotional abuse portrayed in this fic. Writing it sparked a depressive episode for me, so if you think reading it might risk your own mental health _please_ don't read, or at least skip down to the first 'page break', where the POV changes. 
> 
> And I know I'm still dragging my feet on the bakery!AU, but trust me when I say I should not be writing for a fluff fic when I'm in an angst & hurt/comfort mood. I had to get this out of my system after watching Ed struggle in 4x03
> 
> Sidenote: A lot of people portray Ed's parents as lower class, and the abuse as mostly physical. Apart from the one comic, I'm not sure how much canon addresses them, so I decided to switch things up by focusing on emotional/psychological abuse, and the ways in which that applies to upper-middle class lifestyles.

Why.

 

_Why._

 

_Why did she have to know him? Why did she have to mention elementary school? Hadn’t he done enough? Hadn’t he paid enough? Didn’t he deserve to forget?_

“Paid?” the voice behind him scoffed, “You’ve never paid for a goddamn thing in your life! I put that shirt on your back, kid. Your mother puts the food you eat on the table. I pay for the roof over your head. You own _nothing_ in this household, understand? Nothing! So, _no_ , you _don’t_ get a say. Now shut your mouth if you know what’s good for you. In my day kids were _whipped_ for speaking out of turn…”

 

_“But I am!” a much younger Edward had responded, fighting back tears of anger because **sobbing like a baby** was another form of weakness, and the only way to get tough was a beating. Not that they ever seemed to do much good in Edward’s case. _

“Sure,” the voice replied, as loud and derisive as it had when it had actually been issuing from his father’s mouth, “Sure, kid. Keep lying to the people who keep you alive.”

 

_“I’m not lying!” he’d screamed, but it was useless. His father only ever raised a hand to him after getting blackout drunk, and if he saw the scars he’d just yell at Edward for being a klutz. His mother, though, that was a different story. His mother had no issue raising her hand to him sober. Edward didn’t particularly like God, even though he knew he was supposed to, but he thanked God every night that she didn’t have the strength to hit as hard as his father. But he was still a Liar, because his father didn’t know about that. She never admitted to it, not to him, and not to Edward either. She always told him he must have imagined it, and that he shouldn’t think so poorly of her. But if he imagined it, then how come there were marks...?_

“Give me your books,” the voice was sharp now, harsh and cold.

 

_“But – “_

“Don’t ever raise your voice to me, young man. I am your _father_ , and you _will_ show me the respect I am due. Now go to your room, get your books, and give them to me. Perhaps a few weeks without your precious little games will teach you to respect your elders.”

 

_“No, please, I’m sorry, I – “_

“The more you talk, the longer I’ll keep them. When I tell you to do something, you don’t question it, you don’t beg, you _do it._ Understood?”

 

_“Yes, Sir.”_

 

Edward pressed his fingers into the corners of his eyes, trying to focus on the feeling, the _reality_. He was an adult. He’d held a job for _years_. He didn’t rely on _them_ for survival. Not anymore.

 

_But do you really support yourself? Sure, perhaps at the GCPD, but you haven’t worked there in quite some time… No, in Arkham you were the city’s property, then you were the Penguin’s property. And now? Not owned, perhaps, but wholly dependent on Dr. Thompkins and Grundy. You would probably be dead without them. Worse, you would be **nothing** …_

“No!”

 

But it was true. Edward didn’t own enough to live on, and without his brain, his _one_ asset, the _only thing he had going for him_ , he would never be able to make it. So if Dr. Thompkins or Grundy ever told him to jump, he’d have no choice but to say, “How high?”

 

“We always knew you’d end up as somebody’s bitch…” his father’s voice drifted across the room to him, “I’ve never laid eyes on anyone so weak. What _can_ you do, anyway?”

 

“I’m a _genius_ – “

 

“Oh? Then how come you cheated, huh?”

 

Edward froze. _The puzzle competition –_

 

“Oh no, not that. The riddle. You cheated. You looked at the answer. Couldn’t even solve a _children’s_ riddle on your own,” his father snorted, “You really think your smart? You’re _nothing_. You ran away from us, your _family_ , and for what? – to prove that we were right all along about you.”

 

“Our pitiful excuse for a son,” his mother chimed in, “You were always a feeble, spineless _freak_ , but now you’re _stupid_ , too. But it’s not that new, is it? You were always a moron, you were just too dumb to realize it. Everyone who thought you were intelligent? They just bought your lies. Even you. You’re lying to yourself, just trying to pretend like you ever knew anything, like you ever _were_ anything – “

 

“SHUT UP!”

 

He knew it was no use. It was all he’d been thinking of for the past few weeks. Helping Dr. Thompkins and Grundy run their underground fighting ring could only distract him for so long each day, before his thoughts inevitably returned to revenge on Oswald, which reminded him of Myrtle, who forced him to remember his parents. They’d been haunting him for _weeks_. In the faces of strangers on a crowded street, in his hallucinations, and worst of all, in his dreams. At least with the hallucinations, he could remind himself that they were just memories. In the dreams, he was a helpless child again (but was he truly any less helpless as an adult?), being tormented and beaten and gaslighted by nice, suburban Mr. and Mrs. Nashton.

 

“Don’t you know what happens to little boys who yell at their parents?” his mother taunted, the hallucination manifesting in full as she stalked towards him, eyebrows drawn back in mock concern, even as she raised her hand to strike him, “What’s wrong, Edward? Can’t you understand me? Are you really that stupid? That damaged?”

 

“No! No! I – understand,” he stumbled backwards, tripping over his heels and falling gracelessly to the ground. She stepped forward again, reaching out, probably to hold him in place while she hit him. She wasn’t very strong, even though she was stronger than he, so if he struggled the blows would never sting as much as she wanted them to.

 

“You won’t learn anything if you can’t remember them,” she’d say at the time. Only minutes later, though, she would deny the entire thing.

 

“I don’t see any marks,” she would say, “Now stop spreading hurtful rumors about one of the only people who could ever be bothered to care for a weak little boy like you.”

 

He whimpered as her hand grabbed his shoulder and raised his arms above his head, trying to shield his face and neck. His knees curled up into his stomach, defending himself as best he could.

 

“You little freak. Get up! _Useless boy!_ You want someone to give you orders? Someone like the Penguin? Well here’s an order for you: stand up and take it like a man. How could you betray your family, Edward? Your father and I are the _only_ ones who could ever love you. _Ever!_ Not the Penguin, oh no. He thinks he _knows you_ , Edward. How could he? How could he ever know you like we do? You’re a Nashton, Eddie. You belong to us. Our little boy… How could you forget? How could you turn your back on us? You broke our hearts, Edward,” she had tears in her eyes now, and Edward’s own heart ached for them to be real, for her words to be real, for her to have actually cared, but the cruel glint hadn’t left her eyes and there was at least a _fraction_ of his brain still functioning.

 

The hand on his shoulder turned harsh and commanding, fingers digging into his flesh even as he protested, trying and failing to pull away. She dragged him upwards, and then his father was at his other side, picking him up under his arm as if he weighed no more than the average parcel in the mail.

 

“Dear!” His mother snickered at the sight before shaking her head, “Don’t encourage him. He’s far too dependent as it is. He needs to learn to walk on his own, without using you as a crutch.”

 

Edward felt his feet touch back on the ground, but he was helpless to stay standing. His strength had waned completely and he no longer had it in him to hold himself up. Shame welled up inside him as he stumbled, latching onto his father’s arm to keep from falling on his face.

 

Leaning against the man he despised most in the world, the man he wanted to impress most in the world – or was that Oswald? He couldn’t remember. He didn’t know. His _stupid, damaged, broken_ brain couldn’t remember – he was half dragged from the room. His vision blurred and the next thing he knew, he was in a car, his mother leaning across to buckle him in before getting in the driver’s seat. His father was already seated in the front.

 

“Alright, Edward,” his mother turned to him as she started up the car, “We’re going to see one of your father’s employers. You need to be on your best behavior, or you’ll be in _major_ trouble when we get back home. Okay? You don’t speak unless spoken to, remember to thank him for anything you’re given – never thank the help. It doesn’t look very upper class to thank the help, and we’re here to help your father woo him, understood?”

 

_“No,” Edward wanted to say, but his mouth wasn’t working properly, “I don’t understand. How can I not talk **and** thank him?”_

_Should he have learned sign language? He wasn’t at all positive that that was what she had meant. Perhaps she was just warning him in advance that no matter how hard he tried, he’d just be punished anyway. She needn’t have bothered, he though bitterly, he’d been living that way since, well, since forever. Do your best and try to guess which option will get you the lesser punishment._

Unbidden, his mind conjured up memories – painful memories. Mr. Penguin in his apartment, singing with him, joking with him, _killing_ with him. Oswald sending him gifts in Arkham, getting him out, taking him into his home –

 

“Owning you,” his mother spat, “Betraying you. You deserve it for the way you betrayed us. Displaying you, like an animal, like a prize, like an _object_. We would never have put you on display like that.”

 

_“But wouldn’t you? Didn’t you?” his tongue refused to say, “Dressing me up, parading me around to show all your precious rich friends and bosses what a ‘charming’ little family you had?”_

But there had been a time, a small window before his betrayal, when Oswald had been his _friend_ , had _cared about him_. He had taken actions and _not_ been punished for them - sometimes _rewarded_ , but never punished. Not until… not until the betrayal.

 

Perhaps he had set the bar too high? Perhaps he should have been grateful that Oswald would only punish him for _some_ decisions, not _all_ of them. How had he ever expected to find someone who would accept _everything_ he did? He was a freak, after all. Weak, whiny, and now an idiot to boot. How lucky had he been to find someone who could tolerate even a _part_ of who he was?

 

“Oh please, you think he really tolerated you? Don’t kid yourself, Eddie. He fell for your lies about being some kind of genius, wanted to use you for your brain, and when he finally saw you for who you are, there wasn’t anything else for him to do but use you for entertainment until you grew dull and then kick you out. We would never kick you out, Edward. _We_ tolerate you, in spite of all your shortcomings. You’re our son, so we have to. And did we ever _once_ fail in our duties as parents? No! You never froze, you never starved! Even after all you put us through, everything you’re _still_ putting us through, if you came back to us, you’d have a bed, a roof, a table. You caused so much trouble for us, and yes, sometimes you took it too far and we had to discipline you, but never once did we betray you the way he did, or the way you betrayed us. Come back to us, Edward. You’re _ours_.”

 

“I – I don’t know.”

 

“You don’t know?” his father – was that what his father sounded like? – asked.

 

“Brain damage,” his mother scoffed, “He doesn’t know anything anymore.”

 

“There was always a lot he didn’t know, but I can see it’s much worse now,” his father agreed, “What happened to him?”

 

“Well, apart from being frozen for five months,” his mother’s voice was sharp. Was she mocking him for falling for Oswald’s trap? For falling for that warm, kind, _deceitful_ front? How could he resist? The first person in his life to act like he _wasn’t_ a burden on them, how should he have known it was all an act? How –

 

“Johnny and his cronies beat him up again today,” she finished her thought. Edward flinched at the thought. His childhood bullies. They were almost as mad as his father whenever he aced a test.

 

_“Showing us up again, eh?”_

_“I didn’t raise my son to be a cheater!”_

He couldn’t remember which beating had hurt more. Or which time.

 

“Is that so?” his father looked him up and down, “And you thought this was my problem, somehow?”

 

“Some conversations need to be man to man,” she replied lightly. Edward flinched. He remembered man to man conversations with his father. If his father was sober, they mostly consisted of being reminded how worthless he was, how much of a burden. If his father was drunk… his hands twitched towards his back, phantom pain lacing over his scars.

 

He needed to get away, to escape, to get out of it somehow –

 

“Fine,” his father spat, “Edward. Follow me.”

 

His mother’s hands were on his back, pushing him forward, even as his legs screamed to run. With short, stunted steps, Edward made his way after his father who was watching him with hard, icy eyes. He shivered.

 

He followed the man into a study, and the moment he crossed the threshold he smelled the alcohol.

 

“No, no, please,” he turned around, blindly stumbling back towards the door, only to find it shut. Not bothering to try the handle, knowing it would be locked, that he would be trapped, he sank back into his protective position, knees curled up to his chest, back against the wood, arms wrapped around his head as he sobbed into his elbows. He knew he should hold back the tears, knew he was just making it worse, but he _couldn’t help it_. He was trapped, and the scent of alcohol was only growing stronger the longer he was in the room. His father was standing over him, towering, cackling.

 

Oh dear. His father only let go and laughed like that, that sadistically, when he was already past the blackout point. The little piece of hope in his chest that maybe it had only been _one_ drink, or even _two_ , shattered into a million tiny fragments.

 

He curled up even tighter, gasping in air through the tears, choking on saltwater, trying to force out as many apologies as he could while he still had the presence of mind to speak.

 

”I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry –“

 

“Ed?”

 

“Please! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please don’t, please – “

 

“What are you sorry for?” his father practically growled at him.

 

“I don’t know!” he shrieked, knowing it was the wrong answer – it always was – but knowing that not answering was worse, “But whatever it is, I’m _sorry_.”

 

“How can you be sorry if you don’t know what you did?”

 

“I don’t know, but I’ll do anything,” he pleaded, the words shaking with his sobs, “Anything to make up for it. Just don’t hit me again…”

 

His father paused at that, “I haven’t hit you before. Not really.”

 

“Yes, you have!” he should shut up, he really should, but he couldn’t _lie_ , “You always say this. You always say you haven’t done it, but then where do the scars come from? Tell me that! I may be stupid now, but even I know those aren’t scars from falling out of a tree, like you said they were. You’re always telling me not to lie, but what about _you_? What about Mother?”

 

He peeked out from behind his arms to glare at his father. To his surprise, the man was merely standing there, gaping at him.

 

“Ed? Do you know who I am?” his father demanded suddenly.

 

He flinched back against the door and nodded, “You’re my father. I’m sorry for yelling at you. I know I’m supposed to respect my elders, especially my parents. I know I’m not the son you wanted, I _know_ I’m a burden, but I’m _trying_. I know it’s a lot of work for you and Mother to tolerate me, that you have to deal with me, take care of me. I’m sorry. I’m trying, I really am. It’s not a lie, I promise!”

 

“Ed? Why do you think you’re a burden?”

 

He laughed hysterically at that, “Oh, are you going to tell me you don’t think that, now, too? If I think I’m a burden, it’s only because you told me that day in and day out.”

 

“When did h- When did I say that?”

 

“You and Mother, both. Every night, when I would go up to bed, I’d always say goodnight, and that I loved you, and Mother would always say, ‘I certainly hope so, after all we put up with for you,’ and then you’d nod and say, ‘Remember to thank God before you go to sleep, Edward. Thank him for putting you with a family that knows their duty to their son. Anyone else would have kicked you out long ago. We deserve your love for all we’ve done,’ and sometimes, if I was feeling brave, I’d ask if you loved me too.”

 

“And what would I say?”

 

“That no one could ever love a freak like me. No one would ever want to. And that I should be grateful to have a family that tolerates me.”

 

_“Ed – “_

“And you were _right_ ,” he buried his face back into his elbow, muffling his cries and his voice, “I hate you for being right. I was so _sure_ that I could prove you wrong, if only I could get out. That I would prove to you that I _was_ smart, that I _was_ worth something, that I _could_ be loved. But I couldn’t do any of it. I was never anybody. I’m an idiot now, and I can’t even tell if I _was_ smart before. I _thought_ I was, but what if I was wrong? What if you were right about that, too? What if it was all one big lie? And _love_ ,” his sobs dissolved into hysterical, empty giggles again, “How could I have _ever_ deluded myself into thinking I could have it? You were right, you were always right…”

 

His father had been motionless above him for quite some time. He wasn’t sure what was going on, but at least he wasn’t being hit.

 

And then his father very slowly and carefully asked, “What about Oswald?”

 

“What about him?”

 

“Didn’t he say he was in love with you?”

 

“Yes,” Edward whispered, dreading this admission even more, “Yes he did. But you were right. He didn’t mean it. You were right, he just wanted to use me for my brains, and then when he realized I didn’t have any… He kept me around like a pet. Every time I began to doubt him, he’d reassure me with little gifts, building up my affection for entertainment. And even after he betrayed my trust, even after I tried to break free, he kept doing it. Telling me he loved me, just because he knew I’d been waiting to hear that for so long… And then, just as if I were an animal, he put me on display to the world. I’m sorry, Father, I’m sorry. I should have listened to you, I should have stayed with my family. I just wanted _more_ , and I thought he could give it to me. But – “

 

“But what, Ed?”

 

“He just wanted to laugh at me like everyone else, and then he got the whole world to laugh at me with him…”

 

The room fell silent for another minute, Edward’s sniffling and the ticking of a clock the only sounds to be heard. Finally he heard his father walking away from him, picking something up –

 

_No, no, no, please no, not this, no –_

“Have a caramel, Ed.”

 

_What?_

 

Edward looked up to see his father standing a few paces away, holding out an open dish of wrapped candies.

 

He frowned, confused.

 

“Ed,” he said warningly.

 

Gulping down his apprehension, Edward forced himself to his feet, taking the two steps necessary to reach the bowl. He hesitantly snatched the nearest piece, unwrapping the soft cube. His father watched him carefully as he placed the sweet on his tongue.

 

“Eat it,” his father instructed. Edward chewed it and swallowed. He raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth to ask _why_ he’d just done that, but before he could, he slipped into unconsciousness.

 

~          ~          ~

 

Oswald caught his body before it hit the ground, redirecting his fall towards the couch to the side of his desk and rearranging his long limbs as best he could. There was no one in his office to judge him for making his so-called enemy comfortable, so he tried his best. Under the same justification, he gently removed Edward’s glasses, placing them on the nearest corner of his desk, and brushed the younger man’s hair back from his eyes. He looked so different asleep. Peaceful. Ed never looked peaceful while awake. His fingers brushed lower, over his eyelashes, down the bridge of his nose, across his right cheekbone. They stopped at the corner of his lips. After everything he had just heard, he knew he didn’t have that right.

 

Bringing his fingers up to his lips instead of his lips down to Ed’s forehead, he stood from his position at Edward’s side. He headed towards the door, but before he opened it to face Edward’s new friends, he felt the urge to say something. Even if Ed couldn’t hear him, he couldn’t leave things like this.

 

_“Forgive me,”_ he breathed into the room. It felt incomplete, and he itched to say more. Even a name. Not ‘Ed’. He didn’t want it to sound mocking, like when they were in the Court. ‘My friend’ was even worse, after the number of times he’d said it just before killing or betraying another. What he _wanted_ to say was ‘my love,’ but how could he? How could he say anything, anymore? He was still sick to his stomach at having to pretend to be Ed’s father.

 

_I didn’t know –_

 

But it wasn’t an excuse. Just because Ed had a history of being mistreated didn’t make it okay for Oswald to have joined the long line of people that had abused his trust. Abused _him_.

 

And the _excuses._ The _gaslighting_.

 

_“I did it because I love you.”_

And then he remembered one of the last things he’d said to Edward on the docks. The first time.

 

_“When I met you, you were a nervous, jittery loser. You were nothing. I created Edward Nygma. And I am the only one in the world who sees you as you truly are.”_

He fought the urge to gag.

 

_“He kept me around like a pet… as if I were an animal, he put me on display to the world… he just wanted to laugh at me…”_

Oswald rubbed at his eyes in shame. How had he not noticed? How was he _this_ terrible at something as simple as love? His mother had taught him everything about love. Love was about taking care of someone, about making sure their needs were always met, and as many of their wants as possible. It was the entire basis upon which their relationship had been formed. They took care of each other. They were there for each other no matter what, even though neither of them had anything else, they would always have each other. Oswald had failed her, too, but at least there had been outside factors. People whose actions he didn’t have to hold himself accountable for.

 

Everything he had done to Ed was on him. _He_ said those hurtful things to the man he loved, _he_ betrayed his trust, _he_ damaged the one thing Ed prided himself on. There were other things he could have done, other ways to save himself. He didn’t have to harm Ed. His mother would be so ashamed of him if she knew what he had done…

 

Taking a deep breath, he opened the door to his office and walked out, closing it behind him.

 

“Where’s Ed?”

 

Oswald sighed heavily.

 

The ever-charming Dr. Thompkins, and whatever pitiful thing Butch had become. Ah yes.

 

He had been more than alarmed when an unrecognizable car screeched to a stop in front of the Iceberg, even more so when he laid eyes on the three people who had stepped out. But it became apparent long before they reached the doors that something was wrong. This was not a threatening visit. No, Ed was propped up between them, shaking like a leaf. He had stood there, impatient and irritated as Leslie calmly explained that they had been working together at an ‘undisclosed location’ when Jonathon Crane had shown up. Ed had been hit rather hard with the fear toxin, but every other person had recovered from the newly discovered cure of ‘water’.

 

But not Edward.

 

No, he had continued to scream and cry and shake, cowering from the few people he could almost call friends and mumbling incoherently. Leslie had two theories, which were not mutually exclusive.

 

_“He’s been acting oddly for a while, now,” she’d said, “I assumed it was some sort of revenge plot against you, but now I’m not so sure. I think he may suffer from auditory hallucinations. I suspected as much when we worked together at the GCPD. The other reason he might not be recovering is if he has some sort of history with drug use. Drugs alter the brain, so the toxin might behave differently in a mind that has already been altered to some degree.”_

 

“Penguin, where is he?”

 

Oswald blinked, bringing himself back to the present. He shrugged nonchalantly and said, “He’s in there.”

 

“Is he okay?”

 

“He’s unconscious.”

 

“ _What?!_ But you promised you wouldn’t hurt him!”

 

“I find it highly amusing that you trust me to keep my promises, Dr. Thompkins,” he chuckled humorlessly, “But in any case, it’s far too late for that…”

 

“What is that supposed to mean?”

 

“As it happens,” Oswald continued, “I kept my word as best I could. He was far too delirious to work with. I gave him candy laced with a basic sleeping agent. I keep a store of them on hand for clients who step out of line and need to be dealt with quickly and quietly, but it came in handy today. We should move him to a bed in one of the rooms, so that he is less likely to panic when he wakes. You and your… that,” he waved his hand at Solomon Grundy, who didn’t seem to have moved an inch since Ed had let go of his arm to stumble after Oswald, “should stay with him. You’ll be the best judges on whether or not the sleep has allowed him to naturally kick the toxin from his system. If not, take him to me, but make sure he knows who you’re taking him to see.”

 

“He didn’t recognize you?”

 

“Did he look like he recognized me?” Oswald snapped, guilt and shame feeding the flames of his temper.

 

“I suppose not…”

 

Oswald sighed, “He thought I was his father.”

 

Leslie raised an eyebrow, a glint of amusement in her eyes at the implication. Oswald restrained himself from physical violence by adding, “Incidentally, I think he may have mistaken you for his mother, as well. If that gives you any frame of reference for how he views his parents.”

 

The half smirk faded instantly.

 

“Oh god…”

 

Oswald didn’t dignify that with a response.

 

~          ~          ~

 

Oswald carried on with his paperwork, pretending the love of his life was not lying unconscious in a bed downstairs, barely more than a broken husk of a man because of _him_. He filled out forms, consulted with his employees, and read reports, everything on autopilot. Most of his concentration was poured into not dwelling on the events of earlier that afternoon, of not showing his hand more than he could help, of –

 

Wait.

 

Hold up.

 

A snippet of Ed’s ramblings that had escaped him before rose to the forefront of his mind. He had been too consumed with worry and shame to notice it before, but now…

 

_“Telling me he loved me, just because he knew I’d been waiting to hear that for so long…”_

A line like that was hard to misinterpret.

 

Ed thought Oswald had been manipulating him. Sure, alright. He thought he’d only said he loved him as a joke. Painful, but understandable, in hindsight.

 

_But that Ed thought Oswald claimed to love him only because he had somehow deduced that Ed wanted him to – want **him** – and was using that as a manipulation tactic?_

Unthinkable.

 

Absurd.

 

He glanced down to find the form in his hand severely crumpled, having crushed it in his fist at the thought.

 

But what else could Ed have meant?

 

He got up to pour himself another drink, turning the words over and over in his mind.

 

_“I’d been waiting to hear that for so long…”_

 

Perhaps he just meant in general? After everything he’d just said about trying to prove he could be loved – and didn’t that boil Oswald’s blood? ‘Remember: we hate you, but everyone else hates you more’? Wasn’t that essentially what Ed’s slightly incoherent anecdote had meant?

 

And didn’t that just shed a new light on everything? From his behavior towards Oswald, always seeking praise, wanting Oswald to be _proud_ of him, to tell him that, yes, he really was smart – to the entire Isabella fiasco. How addicting must it have felt to him, having someone who refused to let him go, who refused to stop loving him, after fearing the inverse for decades? To think he wasn’t worthy of love, to find someone desperate to love him, and then to lose them almost as suddenly as they were found.

 

But what about that Myrtle woman? She had been even more desperate to love him than Isabella, hadn’t she?

 

But if what Ed had said _wasn’t_ a general statement about wanting to hear, “I love you,” and really _did_ apply to Oswald, perhaps his emotions were simply too mixed up at that point to allow another factor to enter the equation.

 

Of course, that implied it was _true_. Since Myrtle hadn’t been accepted by Ed, despite his track record of needing validation and appreciation, there was evidence to suggest he really _had_ wanted Oswald to love him.

 

Oswald downed his drink and poured himself another. He didn’t remember signing up for these feelings when he decided to betray Fish or Maroni or Falcone. No, he remembered laughing at how easily Falcone had fallen for Liza, how Maroni had lost his control in the face of his best friend’s killer. When had he become as sentimental as those old fools?

 

_Probably as early as when you first wanted to live again, after your mother died,_ he told himself. Ever since that moment, he knew now, he had been willing to risk himself for Edward’s sake. From trying to keep the GCPD off his back to trying to help him survive Arkham, Oswald had been trying to take care of him since that brief time in his apartment.

 

But, _oh_ , how he’d failed.

 

His misery was interrupted by a knock on the door.

 

“Come in.”

 

He watched the knob turn, the ornate door swinging inward, and then –

 

“Ed?”

 

How long had he been pacing back and forth, ignoring his paperwork? The sleeping agent had an average effect time of six hours, surely –

 

But no, there was the clock, shamelessly proclaiming the late hour.

 

Oswald stood still, uncertain as Edward carefully made his way inside the office, noticeably not closing the door behind him. Once he was in front of Oswald’s desk, he stopped, eyes fixed on the closed ledger sitting upon it. Slowly, not wanting to startle him and spark another breakdown, Oswald set his glass down and walked around until he was a few paces away from Edward.

 

“How are you feeling?” he tried.

 

Edward didn’t respond.

 

“Do you at least know me, now?”

 

Oswald’s gaze focused in on the movement as Edward flexed the fingers of his left hand, presumably a sign of distress. Oswald re-evaluated what he had said so far and followed up with a softer, “I’m not trying to mock you. Dr. Thompkins brought you to me to help break you out of Crane’s toxin.”

 

“Why?”

 

“You would have to ask her that. Frankly, I have no – “

 

“No. I meant why would you _agree_ to help.”

 

Oswald sighed, having not figured out a course of action to make up for his mistakes yet. He considered placing a hand on Ed’s shoulder for about half a second before discarding the idea entirely. Why would Edward find comfort in him?

 

“Because I have done many things to you, Ed. Things of which I am not proud. I don’t know if I can ever make it up to you, but I have to start somewhere, don’t I?”

 

Edward actually looked at him after that, confusion and frustration clear in his eyes, and said, “I don’t understand.”

 

A crease appeared on his brow as he said it, and his lips formed a pout, and it would have been so _cute_ if not for the obvious pain lacing the words. Oswald felt a surge of protective instincts, the desire to hunt down and kill whomever had done this to _his_ Edward, and a boundless shame at the knowledge that it was himself. His hands twisted together in agitation as he searched for the words to properly express his remorse to Edward.

 

“Do you remember talking to me this afternoon?”

 

The confusion on Edward’s face deepened as he shook his head, “I – I was at the club, something happened, an attack? And then I went through a really bad episode. Dr. Thompkins explained some of it. How I got here. But I don’t remember seeing you at all. I don’t even remember seeing her.”

 

“You just saw your parents,” Oswald nodded. Edward flinched, no longer able to meet his eyes.

 

“No, no I – “

 

“Ed, it’s okay. You don’t have to pretend, you don’t have to make excuses. I know what you saw because you told me. Some part of you could hear me, probably Dr. Thompkins, too. Your mind must have just filtered our words and voices to sound like your parents.”

 

“I – “

 

“You don’t have to explain, either,” Oswald assured him, “If anything, your reaction to the fear toxin… showed me the error of my ways, so to speak. Or rather, it made me stop and actually _think_ for the first time. Think about what I’d done to you. I don’t know how I let it happen, how I let it get so out of hand, and I am more sorry than you can possibly imagine. I was supposed to be there for you, no matter what. And instead of doing that, I took advantage of you. Worst of all, I didn’t treat you like a person, much less an equal. I’m just… not used to trying. But it’s no excuse. You deserved better. You still do. Does that help?”

 

Edward shook his head, “But – but – “

 

“But I don’t actually care about you? But it was all just a big manipulation to use you for cheap amusement?”

 

He nodded.

 

“Oh Ed… I know it’s hard for you to believe me, but I _do_ love you. I really, truly do.”

 

“But it doesn’t make any sense!”

 

“Are you asking me to explain why I fell in love with you?” Oswald smiled at the thought, “I’m not sure anyone understands these things, but I’ll try. For you. I think, when you love a person, you have to feel connected to them on some level. But you also have to _not_ understand them in some ways. Something about them that you can’t explain, that isn’t _you_ , but that you admire about them. In your case, it was your never-ending enthusiasm. The way you _couldn’t_ give up.”

 

“You don’t give up, either.”

 

“No, that’s not true. I have very broad goals for myself, and if I feel my current path won’t get me to them, I can toss it all out and start anew. You won’t rest until you succeed. It’s quite admirable. And as for your enthusiasm… It’s refreshing. Not many murderers enjoy themselves as much as you. Victor Zsasz, perhaps, but I find your ways… considerably more endearing. So even from the start, we had the foundation we needed. I hadn’t dreamt of _feelings_ back then, but I did like you. So I reached out. You were in Arkham, where I had suffered so much, and it seemed like the perfect time to cultivate a friendship. I hadn’t been the most accepting when I was your guest, and I wanted to reassure you that I was open to a partnership of sorts.

 

And then, once you really were by my side… it was like nothing I’d ever experienced. My mother and I were close, yes, but she was my _mother_. She didn’t plot my domination of this city, even if she did boost my confidence. She didn’t _kill_ with me. For me. My bond with her was familial. But you and me? That was something entirely new to me. I was used to expendable cronies and begrudging cops. And I guess, at first, I thought of you as an expendable crony whose company I enjoyed. That attitude was changing, but I didn’t truly realize it until the night you unmasked Butch as a traitor. When you told me you’d done it all for my reputation, for my position… that was the moment that I cared more about your life than I did my titles, my kingdom, my _respect_. I realized that it wouldn’t have been worth it without you there to have it all with me.

 

So there, Edward Nygma. I love you. It took me too long to learn how to treat you like a person, not a prize, but that is entirely on me. Even your revenge plots, I want to be mad, but… how can I blame you? Wouldn’t I do the same in your place? I don’t deserve you, I don’t even deserve your forgiveness, but I am going to do everything within my power to earn it. Whether I ever do or not is up to you. As it should have always been.”

 

He looked up from his hands to find Edward still staring at his desk, but now there were tears running down his face.

 

“Ed?”

 

“Why can’t I just hate you?”

 

“You can,” Oswald insisted, “Hate me all you want. It’s more than justified.”

 

“No,” Edward shook his head, “I really can’t. I want to, but… I want to believe you, too. I – I idolized you, Oswald. I wanted you to be perfect, and then you _weren’t_ , and it was so easy to pretend like I didn’t care about you once you’d fallen off your pedestal, but now? You – you learned. You want to make amends. I – No one’s ever tried to make amends with me before. Even if my mind was intact, I’m not sure I’d know what to think.”

 

“You don’t have to forgive me just because I’m sorry.”

 

“But I don’t _want_ to be mad at you. I mean, I _do_ , but only because it’s _easier_. Because if I admit that I _don’t_ hate you, I’m going to have to face the fact that I – I…” he trailed off.

 

“That you what, Ed?”

 

“I don’t want to say it,” he whispered, “I don’t want you to laugh.”

 

“I promise I won’t laugh at you. I hope you know that every time I _did_ laugh at you, every time I made fun of you, I was just lashing out. I shouldn’t have, I get that now, and it’s not an excuse. I just need you to know that I didn’t mean it. Any of it.”

 

“Fine,” Edward sighed, his entire body seeming to lose a certain amount of tension as he did so, “I wish I could hate you because that’s easier than facing the fact that I was in love with you for months. Or, at least, in love with my idolization of you. And if I admit to that, then I might start falling in love with you for real, and I – I’m scared,” there were a more things he could say – why he was scared, what he was scared of – but he didn’t say any of it. It felt like too much.

 

Oswald gestured towards the couch, sitting down on one end and waiting for Edward to follow his lead. Once seated, he said, “Let’s just start slow, then. You don’t have to hate me, you don’t have to love me, but you _can_ do either. Or neither. I’m done trying to dictate your life Ed. After what I just saw… it broke my heart to see you like that, Ed, and I will do everything in my power to ensure it doesn’t happen again. So. Small. How are you feeling? Is the toxin out of your system?”

 

Edward looked away, considering, before he replied, “The toxin left my system the same time it left everyone else’s.”

 

Oswald frowned, “I don’t follow.”

 

“I hallucinate just fine on my own. The toxin merely intensified my hallucinations, broke one of my last barriers between fiction and reality. I didn’t need it to see them, to hear them. That was all me. But… thank you. For what you did. Sleeping helped me build the barriers back up, so I can – I can… function like an almost normal person again. And thank you for doing it in a way that didn’t make me panic. I’m sorry about the needle.”

 

“What?” Oswald blinked. He had understood everything, up until then.

 

“In my apartment. I sedated you. With a syringe. I’m sorry. Myrtle did something… more or less like that and – and it was terrifying. Waking up in a stranger’s bed, weak, helpless. Them acting like a stalker. It’s more disconcerting than I realized at the time. And then the _needles_ …” he shuddered and shook his head, “Anyways. Sorry.”

 

“It’s fine,” Oswald answered lightly. In truth, he had forgotten. He had been through many more terrifying ordeals than an overly enthusiastic forensic scientist injecting him with an unknown substance, “I’m glad you weren’t upset by the caramel.”

 

“It was a good idea,” Edward shook his head, “I needed time to snap out of it, and while it was confusing, it wasn’t scary.”

 

“Good,” he nodded, searching for something more to say, “So what now? I won’t force you stay here, but I would encourage it. I’m not sure it’s safe for you to be out and about if your mind is this fragile right now. If you’re comfortable staying, of course.”

 

“You mean it?” Edward asked, eyes wide. Oswald nodded, “I promise, I’ve learned. I’m here for whatever you need. I only suggest it because I’m concerned about your mental state. What happened, anyway? Was it the brain damage?”

 

Edward shrugged, “Possibly. Myrtle Jenkins, too.”

 

“What?” Oswald’s voice took on a slightly sharper edge.

 

“She went to elementary school with me, apparently. She made me think about… that time.”

 

Oswald swallowed his anger, “That is unfortunate. Have you made any progress with reversing the damage?”

 

Edward’s eyes slid around the room, never settling anywhere for too long. He was such a poor liar.

 

“It _is_ damage, Ed. You _are_ brilliant. It’s not a lie. It’s not all in your head. Well – you know what I mean. You’re a genius, and you’re going to get through this.”

 

“But,” Edward looked back at him, fear shimmering in his still-widened eyes, “But what if I don’t? What if I’m useless forever?”

 

“You’re not useless. And why should it matter anyway? You shouldn’t have to be useful to matter.”

 

“But like this, I – I’m just a burden,” his voice trailed off into almost nothing on the last word, but Oswald heard him anyway.

 

“I love you, Ed. I love your company. I love your sense of humor. I love how proud you are when you do things. Being brain damaged doesn’t change any of that. You’re still the man I love, and – in case you hadn’t noticed – I’m still the king of Gotham’s underworld. Even if it was true that you could do nothing – which it isn’t – I wouldn’t need you to. You are _not_ a burden. Not to me. You’re the love of my life.”

 

Edward gasped in a breath of air, almost like a sob, and Oswald noticed he was still crying. His fingers itched to wipe the tears from his cheeks, to pet his hair and hold him close, but he wouldn’t do anything without Edward’s permission. Not this time.

 

All at once, Edward’s hand shot out and grabbed his where it had been resting on his knee.

 

“Ed? What do you want?” he asked as gently as he could, not wanting the question to be mistaken for irritation.

 

“I don’t know,” he whispered, before he started laughing. It was definitely hysterical, although not nearly as broken as earlier in the day. Oswald stroked his thumb over the back of Edward’s hand, trying to provide some kind of anchor for him. Tears were still streaming down his face, and his laughter eventually slowed into a soft, sobbing hiccup.

 

“I want my brain back. I want to feel safe. I want to be valued,” he said in a rush, “At least, I think that’s what I want. I’m not sure of anything anymore.”

 

“Then I will do everything I can to achieve that,” Oswald swore, “If you want me to, that is.”

 

Edward’s hold on his hand tightened and he searched Oswald’s eyes for something, “You really love me? You really want me? You’d let me stay, even if I can’t do anything for you?”

 

“Yes,” Oswald replied firmly, clasping his hand in return, “Yes to all.”

 

“Hold me.”

 

He shifted over until he was directly beside Oswald, eyes imploring. Oswald complied, slowly, in case Edward had a change of heart, but the other man didn’t move away. Once his arms completely encircled Edward, he all but collapsed against him, tucking his face into the crook of Oswald’s neck and clinging to him like a drowning man to a lifesaver. Oswald tightened his arms around him and reached one hand up, cautiously, and carded it through his hair, like he’d been itching to from the start. Edward sighed against his shoulder and shifted impossibly closer.

 

“Thank you.”

 

“You don’t have to thank me, Ed. You don’t owe me a goddamn thing,” he whispered back.

 

“I’m not sure loving you is as scary as I thought,” Edward answered.

 

“I’m glad.”

 

They sat together for immeasurable minutes before Oswald broke the silence.

 

“Can you still hear them?”

 

“Not right now,” Edward shook his head, “But when I woke up…”

 

“So they’re not gone?”

 

“No. You do a good job of fending them off, though,” he said.

 

“First thing tomorrow, I’ll start looking into ways to help you.”

 

“No therapy. Not if Arkham is the best this city has to offer.”

 

“There are other cities – “

 

“Not with you, there aren’t. Gotham is yo – _our_ city. I’m staying.”

 

“Alright, no therapy – “

 

“And no drugs. I’m done with taking pills.”

 

Oswald wanted to ask, especially after Dr. Thompkins had implied as much, but now was not the time.

 

“You’re limiting your options quite a bit…”

 

“If they were proven to work, perhaps, but as far as I’m aware, no one else on the planet has been cryogenically frozen for five months,” Edward replied, and while his tone was mostly resentful, Oswald was shocked to detect a hint of pride… How had he not noticed Ed’s desperate need to be special before? Even if he hated what made him different, there was still a part of him that loved he’d done something no one else had. It was… painfully pathetic. Oswald held him just a little closer.

 

“Alright, well before we look into solutions, I need to consult Victor anyway. He made the formula, and – “

 

“ _Victor Fries_ ,” Edward sat up a little straighter, “I didn’t really get the chance to think about it before. I worked his case. In forensics. It was _fascinating_. I – I - ,” his voice lost it’s excitement, “I can’t remember. There was _something_ , and I knew it, but…”

 

“Shh,” Oswald stroked his hair again, “It’ll be alright. We’ll figure it out, I promise. And then you and Victor can geek out over chemicals to your heart’s content. But he might know something about the side effects, and how to reverse them. He intended to use this on his wife, you know. He should have had contingency plans in place. Or at the very least know what went wrong so we know what we have to fix.”

 

“Okay,” Edward sank back against his chest, taking deliberately slow breaths to quell his raising panic, “I believe you.”

 

Oswald looked down at him to see his eyelids drooping, and he shifted slightly.

 

“Do you want to sleep?”

 

Edward nodded, “I know I just slept, but all this… I’m exhausted.”

 

“I understand. Do you want me to walk you back to the room you woke up in?”

 

“Would you?”

 

“Of course.”

 

Oswald helped him stand and let him lean on him, even as he had to lean on his cane. What a sight they must have made. He shook his head, guiding Edward out the door and down to the room where they had put him that afternoon. Dr. Thompkins and Solomon Grundy were still there, waiting. Or perhaps they just hadn’t anticipated the Lounge opening for the night and weren’t sure how to leave without getting seen by the crowds. Oswald, however, had a system of back passages for just such an occasion.

 

“Ed?” Leslie stood up when they came in, “Are you alright.”

 

“I’m fine,” he nodded, “Just tired. Oswald is letting me stay here.”

 

She glanced between them and asked, “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

 

Edward nodded again, “I want to.”

 

“Trust me,” Oswald smiled, only halfway derisively, “I’m done forcing him to do anything.”

 

Still slightly suspicious, Leslie nodded, “Alright. Well if you’re sure…”

 

“If it bothers you this much, Doctor, you can always borrow a room for yourself,” Oswald offered.

 

“No thank you. I have a club to run. But I _will_ be back tomorrow to check on him.”

 

“Good. I’m glad he has friends.”

 

Edward was already half collapsed on the bed, sleep taking him despite the conversation going on above his head. Leslie held out her hand, “To communication and understanding?” she suggested.

 

Oswald shook the proffered hand, “A noble sentiment.”

 

The other two left without much more conversation, except to say farewell to Edward and help him lay down properly. Once they were gone, Oswald turned for the door. He was halted by the sound of Edward’s voice.

 

“Wait – “

 

He turned around, eyebrow raised.

 

“Can you – would you stay?”

 

“Stay?” he took two steps towards the bed, other eyebrow going up, too.

 

“Please?” Edward asked, his own brow drawn back in a pleading expression, “I don’t want to be alone.”

 

Oswald nodded shortly, unwilling to disappoint him, and headed towards the chair Leslie had just vacated. Before he could reach it, though, his gaze caught on Edward, who was lifting the corner of the blankets, as if in invitation.

 

“You mean - ?”

 

Edward nodded, “You made them go away in the office. Maybe you can make them go away in my dreams, too.”

 

Oswald opened his mouth and shut it multiple times, searching for an appropriate response. Fear flashed across Edward’s face and his grip on the blankets slackened fractionally.

 

“Unless, unless you don’t want – “

 

“No,” Oswald held up a hand quickly, “No, no. I – I can do that. If you trust me to, that is?”

 

Edward shrugged, “I don’t know who to trust anymore. I can’t even trust myself, my judgement. But I _want_ to trust you. I do.”

 

Oswald carefully settled himself on the bed beside Edward, hesitantly reaching out to hold him like he had on the couch in his office. Some of his apprehension melted away as Edward all but snuggled into him, settling his head on Oswald’s chest and curling a hand across his midriff.

 

“Can you do that again?”

 

“Do what?” Oswald asked, frowning marginally. Edward didn’t reply verbally, merely grabbed one of Oswald’s hands and placed it on his head. His voice was beginning to slur with sleep as he said, “’t felt good. Safe.”

 

Oswald carded through his hair again, obligingly, “Of course, love.”

 

Even through the fabric of his shirt, he could feel Edward’s lips curve into a smile at the name.

 

Maybe they’d be okay after all.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope that was a satisfying ending. I considered going farther, to the point that Edward gets better, or even just slightly more romantic, but I didn't want to change the vibe. This is about Oswald learning to not be a shitty person and taking care of Edward when and how he needs it. And it's about Edward finally realizing that his parents were wrong about him. More romance would have shifted the focus off that, so I decided against it.
> 
> Comments make my day! Like it? Didn't like it? Confused by something? Want to talk theories? Go for it


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